


A Hush Over Everything

by TheosOxonian



Series: In Faint, Far Hope [2]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 04:37:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5614168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheosOxonian/pseuds/TheosOxonian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robbie struggles to find the right time.  </p><p> </p><p>  <i>"So here they both were, starting to haver around each other.  It was a right bloody pickle he’d landed himself in.  He’d have to get one of those mugs he’d seen in the Quaker Centre the other week, the one with that slogan.  </i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>This would be really funny if it wasn’t happening to me."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Robbie woke and took a moment to groggily assess his surroundings. Cream linen bedspread and a dark room, James’ flat then. He risked opening his eyes further and took in the tastefully striped curtains complete with blackout linings. A must for shift workers and those with unpredictable hours apparently. Fingers scrabbled over the surface of an antique night stand as he fumbled blearily for his phone. Definitely not his flat, too much polished wood and too little Ikea for a start.

5.15am. Bloody hell. Being involved with a fit young thing had its many advantages but being woken up at an ungodly hour on a weekend wasn’t one of them. It hadn’t been too bad at first, James had taken the concept of wallowing and lazing around in bed to the extreme. But over the last few weeks he’d picked up his exercising again, dashing out in the early hours when the river would be quiet. Hopefully rowing was like cricket, a strictly summer pursuit. Likely as not when the days turned again there’d be plenty of time to snuggle. Long, lovely autumn mornings when the wild weather could be held at bay by strong arms and smooth sheets. He smiled softly, grateful all over again for James’ presence in his life, that against all odds he once again had things to look forward to. Good times to stack up against the day to day trials. Like being dragged out of blissful unconsciousness he thought with a slight grimace at the obvious irony.

He listened for a moment, the flat was quiet and the other side of the bed was cool. Likely as not it was the front door closing that had woken him. He turned over with a sigh, burrowing back into the duvet in the vain hope that would manage to fall asleep again. There was some hope, seeing as the boiler wasn’t about to start up and no one was going to be clattering bowls and cups from cupboard to table. Mind there wasn’t much chance, he acknowledged ruefully, too many years of being on call, needing to be up and alert at a wholly unreasonable speed at wholly unreasonable hours. A policeman’s lot and all that. 

He rolled over onto his back and contemplated the shape of his morning. He could get up, have a lazy breakfast, wander out later in search of a paper or two. The Guardian for the Saturday crossword if he didn’t want to be greeted by good natured grumbling when James got back. There were probably wash loads to put through as well, and there was a fair chance someone would think the perfectly clean and tidy flat required the application of a duster and a hoover. Robbie felt himself smile all over again, James gentle nagging grated on occasion, but then he’d tried life without a partner to chivvy him into better habits and it hadn’t been fun at all. He’d take the nagging any day. Peaceful was all well and good, but it became achingly solitary all too soon.

Anyway it was still relatively early days for them, still in the moonstruck phase of shagging like rabbits and knocking each other’s corners off. They’d settle down soon enough. He’d learn to dust the mantelpiece with good grace and James would learn that a few finger marks on the coffee table weren’t going to bring about the end of the world. 

Rolling out of bed with a heartfelt sigh Robbie reached for James’ dressing gown, lying discarded on the bottom of the bed. It was one of the few items of his clothing he could fit in easily enough. A little long in the leg perhaps, but he quite liked that, liked being swallowed up in something warm and soft that smelled like James. And cigarettes, he acknowledged as he dug a lighter out of the pocket the tossed it onto the dressing table. Squinting in the half-light he opened the top drawer and assessed the state of his clothing. Not good. A clean pair of boxers at least, but he was going to have to borrow socks. Hopefully he’d manage to pick out a pair that weren’t one of James’ favourites. Never known anybody be so particular about bloody socks. 

Keeping their own flats made a certain sort of sense initially, but after a while it was just inconvenient. Half their stuff scattered across the city with the end result that nothing was ever where you needed it. Like his dressing gown, hanging on the back of his bedroom door right where he’d left it yesterday morning. He’d tried to raise the issue with James just last week, but all he’d got for his trouble had been a penetrating stare accompanied by a pointed, raised eyebrow. That was one thing about getting to know James better; he was even more adept at reading his silences. Which was all well and good when the lad got a strop on, but it was a bugger when they actually needed to talk. Which they sort of did, he acknowledged with a grimace as he drew back the curtains and greeted the dim, pre-dawn day with a yawn. Because here they were three months in and he still hadn’t said it yet. It was becoming a bit of an issue between them. A silent issue of course. A silent, growing bleeding issue.

He wandered into the kitchen, grabbing a quick glass of juice from the fridge, the sharp, bitter burst of orange chasing away the lingering remnants of sleep. There was a note lying on the table, James’ characteristic slanting handwriting decorating the paper in what were obviously rushed strokes. _Gone rowing, back later._ Robbie shook his head in mild amusement. Quite what James imagined he’d think on waking to an empty bed, he didn’t know. 

Run off with the milkman, see you at work on Monday. Eloped with Sven, the Swedish pool cleaner, catch up when I’m back in Oxford and I’ll show you the photos. Heading off with the band to Bogotá, see you when we’ve learned champeta.

He folded the note and dropped it into the box of recycling that James kept by the back door. He’d left them without fail whenever he headed out if Robbie was still asleep, even that time he’d only nipped to the corner shop to find more fags. It was endearingly thoughtful. Sweet even.

Then again if he’d learnt anything over the last few months it was that James was naturally, effortlessly caring. He’d always thought the lad would be his slightly socially awkward self in a relationship, would need to be pushed and cajoled into affection. In fact he’d right looked forward to ambushing James into some sofa snuggling, to taking the latest intellectual tome from his hands, carefully removing his wire framed reading glasses and pressing him back into the cushions with soft kisses and strong, firm hands. Looked forward to teaching him the quiet joy that could be found in the touches and moments that came with each day, the casual easy comfort of a loving relationship. 

But James hadn’t been halting or hesitant, hadn’t needed to be coaxed into a cuddle by the kettle. Had already known that a quick kiss on the way out of the door made for a damn good start to the day, that a gentle hand against a back brought with it a simple, quiet contentment. He was easily, artlessly affectionate; open and loving in a way that Robbie had never imagined he would be, never imagined he could be. 

It made his heart ache a little when he stopped to think about it. When he paired the tenderly cheeky man that shared his bed with the stiff, snarky sod the rest of the world saw. Because there was no doubt that James would once have been a wide eyed and eager boy, so ready to care and be cared for. So young and so loving and so damn vulnerable. 

He’d never before been able to understand James’ dalliance with the church, but he now had half an idea what might have led him to the seminary door. Could imagine the enthused, excited young man who loved God and so wanted to learn how to love His people, with all his heart, with all his soul and with all his mind. 

A time so long ago. Long before life stiffened and chilled him, made him harder and colder, added sharp edges and an even sharper tongue. The one he wielded so easily, that lashed out at others before they could chance to wound him. The remnants of a life that Robbie had never known, had never been able to soften and shield. A sad, lonely legacy.

But for all that there were still flashes of the younger man, the keen, sincere boy he’d once been. There was that endless, boundless curiosity, his need to absorb and to know everything he could, as deeply as he could. The desperate need to achieve and to be useful; to be wanted and to be needed in whatever capacity possible. It was horribly sobering to think that for years the only way James had of measuring his worth was their clear up rate. The memory of that all-nighter on the Chloe Brook’s case still brought with it a bucket load of unease. 

It was devastating to think how many times the world must have casually hurt him. How many times he must have casually hurt him. Little wonder that lad was so buttoned up, so cautious in guarding his heart and feelings. Yet his faith in Robbie seemed unquestioning. Always had, right from the get go. And that trust was just a little terrifying. Like the moment his kids had opened their eyes for the first time. All that fragile innocence resting so hopefully in his hands.

James deserved to be told he was loved, deserved it so damn much. And it might make him a soft-hearted sentimental old fool, but he wanted to give James a perfect moment. Wanted to give him something they could both look back on with misty, nostalgic warmth. When James would know without a doubt that he finally safe and secure and adored. To reward the hope that flickered in those parts of his heart he still hid away.

And he’d tried to find it, he really had. It should have been easy in those early, heady weeks. But work had descended into barely controlled chaos; they’d pretty much lived at the station falling straight into which ever bed was nearest when they clocked off. He couldn’t have said it then, not squeezed in between murder scenes and witnesses and the Chief Super’s office. Not as they stumbled blearily around half-familiar kitchens, learning how to navigate around each other, to accommodate each other. Not when it would have sounded rushed and cheap, thrown out into the space between tasks and jobs and quick catches of sleep. 

And he hadn’t quite managed it during their more intimate moments either. He loved lying with James, all wrapped up in the sight and scent of him. Loved the sound of him, the breathless call of his own name from those shapely lips, the happy, sharp moans when Robbie took him in his mouth, his wordless, choked cries of pleasure. His own heart always felt fit to burst with the sheer joy and intimacy of it all, and the words still rose readily to his lips. He’d kissed them into every inch of James’ body, imprinted them with his touch, as though they could somehow sink through his skin and take up home in his heart. As though he could know by kiss and caress alone.

But you couldn’t say it for the first time like that. Not when he’d told Denise Fletcher he loved her during his own, embarrassingly brief first time. And then six months later to that Maureen lass he’d started dating after Denise had chucked him. Not when James might think the words were the product of nothing more than that brief, ephemeral euphoria. 

Then there’d been James’ birthday last month. He’d thought of making a night of it, maybe going back to that restaurant with its pleasingly unsquare plates and later a moonlit walk along the river. But that had seemed a bit desperate, a bit manufactured, like he was trying too hard to recapture that night, relying on echoes of second-hand emotion. And it wasn’t like you could just casually slip something like that into the celebrations. Like it was some sort of extra present, something that only happened on special occasions. It would have turned the whole thing into a right performance. 

Only he was in danger of turning it into a right bloody performance anyway. It had gone on too long, he’d been silent for far too long. They should probably just sit down and talk about it. James could laugh at him and point out that perfect moments didn’t really exist, that he’d have been happy with a declaration in the smoking shelter of a pub. And given how long it was taking, how much he was probably trying and testing James’ patience it was probably a good point. But he couldn’t shake the belief that James really did deserve better than that. Deserved the best of everything.

Well, Robbie thought as he marshalled himself for the day, maybe dawn on the river would be the time, the words and the moment rising and breaking with the sun. Ignoring the lure of the kettle and its promise of coffee Robbie ducked into the shower and headed out of the front door a little after six, walking the three miles into town at a pace brisk enough to hold back the chill in the air. He nipped into Taylors just as they opened, grabbing coffees, a bottle of water and two toasted sandwiches before making his way a little slower through the waking town. It was quiet at this time of day, shop fronts starting to blink into life, employees ducking under half raised shutters, the odd rumble of a bus on High Street. He wandered down past the station and cut through onto Boathouse Walk, eventually taking up residence on the balcony of the last boathouse and settling in to wait. 

He’d watched the boat race when he was younger, wondered sometimes at the training the rowers must have done. But he’d never imagined he’d end up frequenting a college boathouse, just one of the many interesting things in his life now. He wasn’t sure whose it was exactly, possibly Christ Church’s if the crest was anything to go by, no doubt some favour from one of his contacts in the band given that they practiced down there. He took a bite of the sandwich as he glanced out over the river, toward the great big black box with bits of glass sticking out that sat on the opposite bank. He knew that one alright, everybody in Oxford knew University College’s boathouse. He shook his head, just as he did every time he saw the thing. Architectural monstrosity didn’t cover it. God knows which overpaid idiot had designed it but it stuck out like a sore thumb, the only hope was it might burn down like the last one. 

But his attention wasn’t really on the banks of the river, his eyes drawn instead to the water, scanning the southern horizon for any sign of a scull and a lone rower. It was peaceful here, and much as he might grumble at the early start he did enjoy coming to meet James off the river. Only a stone’s throw from the station and the bustle of St Aldates, yet down here, at this time of the morning and this time of the year there was barely a soul. What few students remained were mired in exams and the joggers and walkers mainly stuck to Christ Church Meadows, not bothering to venture down this part of the path. Leaving just him, the gentle lap of the water and a pleasant sense of easy expectation. 

The morning was cool but clear, a welcome hint of sun beginning to show in the east, a definite change from the otherwise damp, chilly June they’d so far endured. Robbie hunkered into his coat, glad of the drink that warmed his insides and fogged his breath. Mist was rising with the day, gentle coils of cloud twisting up from the damp earth, carpeting the grass and meadows in a soft, white haze. Overhead a flock of birds cut through the silence, their calls echoing as they came into land. Some night migrators no doubt, though he had no idea what they were. His uncle had been a right one for twitching, but he’d never been all that interested in peering through a pair of binoculars looking for a yellow breasted whatsit. 

A movement away to the left caught his eye and he watched as the prow of a scull came into view around the corner from the Wiers Lane bridge. He lingered on the balcony for a moment, watching as the figure sharpened and took shape, enjoying the sight of James as he came ever closer, the slide of his body a perfectly choreographed counterpoint to the silent sweep of the oars. He cut through the water with a smooth, sinewy grace, the boat casting a shimmering streak of ripples in its wake that caught and danced in the morning sun. Robbie’s breath caught right along with them, it was always a captivating sight. All that power and strength distilled into a set of careful, refined movements. James so focussed, intent on the heave and haul of his body, the pull of the oars, their shape in the air and the water. It was the same way he approached most things in life, that careful studious intensity. He’d seen it in the way James read witness statements and interrogated suspects. The way he selected herbs for his veg omelette. The way he kissed and touched and loved. His heart swelled; he was so bloody lucky, so blessed that James had chosen him. 

He wandered down the steps as James’ strokes gradually slowed and then stopped, the boat drifting to its final halt alongside the wooden landing stage. He hung back for a moment, watching with appreciation as James paused to catch his breath, head tipped back as he pulled grateful gulps of oxygen into his lungs, the long column of his throat bared to the morning air. A light shimmer of sweat beaded his body, muscles beginning a fine tremor as they gradually relaxed. Robbie felt his body stir at the sight. Pavlovian response. Seeing James all sweaty and trembly sent his mind to only one place. God help them if Innocent ever got it into her head to do one of those awful team away-day things. Some outdoor activity centre with a lot of mud and a want-to-be drill sergeant that could give Peterson a run for his money in the action man stakes. He’d be unfit for public company within minutes, have to spend the entire day hiding in the shrubbery. Mind that reaction had led to a few interesting moments down here, heated, ardent kisses that would definitely have frightened the horses.

“Had fun?” Robbie asked as James turned to greet him, body bobbing with the movement of the boat and water.

“Yeah,” James agreed offering him a wide, happy smile that found an instant reflection on his own face. “It’s lovely out there. Quiet. No college crews, no collisions, no cox’s bawling like fishwives. Just like a river should be.”

“If you own your own, perhaps,” Robbie observed as James hauled himself out of the boat with strong arms, staggering at little as he mounted the jetty, legs protesting the change in latitude. “Other than that I think you pretty much have to share.”

“Hmm,” James agreed with a dissatisfied moue as he stretched out his limbs, gradually coaxing them back into compliance. He twisted his body with a final, satisfied shake and strode up onto the path, bending down to offer Robbie a quick kiss. “Morning,” he mumbled into his mouth. 

“Morning,” Robbie agreed as James deepened the kiss, tongue seeking Robbie’s own, an arm sneaking around his waist, pressing them together for a brief, thrilling moment. And though he knew it was impossible, it was so easy to believe that they could be like this forever. That they could defy time and tide, never drift into a comfortable companionship where kisses were expected and occasionally endured, but rarely exciting. 

“Tell you one way I wouldn’t have to share,” James suggested with a grin as he pulled away with a last, final peck and turned back to the boat. “If you saved up and bought me a nice manor house with its own bit of river.” 

“Fat chance,” Robbie retorted as James heaved the scull over his head with a pained grunt and walked it back to the boathouse, stacking it carefully on the racking. “I’ll retire long before you remember. One day in the possibly not too distant future it’ll be your job to keep me in the style to which I’ve become accustomed. Which doesn’t involve owning ludicrously large houses you’ll be pleased to know.”

“Well provided you don’t take up an expensive hobby I think my salary will just about stretch to an Indian and a couple of pints,” James agreed as he stored the oars and retreated to his locker collecting jogging bottoms and one of his hoodies, reflexively checking for phone, keys and wallet as he drew deep draughts from his water bottle. 

Expensive hobbies, he was one to talk. He’d asked what the boat cost once, when he’d realised that it actually was James’ and not just one he had the loan of. Somewhere toward the end of a lecture about the difference between boats and sculls James had mumbled something that suggested it was a darn sight more than the guitar. He could collect Art Deco glassware, rare stamps and 80’s football shirts and still come out streets ahead. 

“Well today I have the takeaway,” Robbie said holding up his offerings. “And there’s a bottle of water in my pocket if you want anymore.”

“Ta,” James said as he dug his hands into Robbie’s pockets before collapsing on one of the plastic chairs that littered the floor, toeing off his rowing shoes. “Not that I object, but you’re up early,” he observed.

“Yeah, can’t imagine why,” Robbie said with a mock sigh as James bent to tie up his trainers. “I had this fantasy of waking up slowly next to blond with a pair of killer legs. But they buggered off so that plan was a bust. Rather than waste the morning I thought I’d take a walk instead…sort of found myself here.”

“Sorry,” James said with a wrinkle of his nose and a quick, half smile. “You could have stayed in bed until I got back. Never know I might have joined you,” he offered with a suggestive tilt of his eyebrows.

Robbie returned the look with a smile. He had done that a couple of times, crept back under the covers all freshly showered and sweet smelling. Or that one time he’d collapsed bodily onto the bed, all exhausted and still sweaty. Mind, they’d managed to coax a little more energy out of the lad before they both needed a shower. 

“Who says it’s you?” Robbie asked teasingly as he hooked a chair with his ankle and drew it next to James’, “I was talking about that Elsie downstairs.”

“Please, she’s eighty if she’s a day,” James chided as he reached up for the coffee, taking a first tentative sip. “Besides I happen to have evidence that your tastes run to those a little younger than octogenarians. Anyway you wouldn’t like her legs, it’s all surgical stockings and varicose veins,” he finished confidingly.

“How the hell to do you know that?” Robbie demanded. “Often go around staring at your neighbours’ legs do you. Should I expect to be fielding an harassment complaint in the near future.”

“Jealous?” James asked with a grin, “After all I clearly do like what age has to offer.”

“I’ll take that,” Robbie decided after a moment of contemplating offence. 

“Don’t worry,” James said , “I just picked up her prescription once when it was icy and she was bothered about falling. I only stare at your legs dear,” he added with exaggerated sweetness. 

“Maybe I will keep you then,” Robbie mused as he settled into the chair, squirming a little as the flimsy plastic back bent and twisted beneath his weight. God knows why the things were always so uncomfortable for anyone that weighed over seven stone, the makers should have managed something better after so many years.

“I did try to be quiet,” James offered apologetically. 

“Yeah you were,” Robbie agreed, his tone gentle with no sign of rebuke, “think I’ve just been too well trained by numerous desk sergeants over the years. Wake up on a hair trigger these days and there’s not much to be done about it. Anyway, I come bearing coffee, a sarnie and no ill will.”

“Ah, caffeine and carbohydrate, knew there was a reason I liked you,” James said as he reached enthusiastically for the paper bag. Robbie winced a little as James bent to set the cup at his feet and a moment of unexpected tension crept between them. 

Liked, not loved. That was new, and not in a good way. Bloody hell he _was_ making a right bloody performance of it alright. So much of a performance it looked like even James patience was starting to wear thin. Except it wasn’t his patience that was on the wane Robbie realised with a growing sense of discomfort. It wasn’t a lack of perseverance that had caused James to dial down his own declarations, it was the presence of doubt.

Strike being a sentimental old fool, he was just an old fool. His search for the perfect moment was all well and good, but it was about to turn into something horribly self-defeating. Robbie thought back to that night in Witney with a slightly sad smile, about how confident James had been. How he’d wanted to make sure that he never lost that surety, that belief in his own feelings. In Robbie’s feelings. But here they were, sat side by side on cheap garden chairs, an awkward, unwanted silence lengthening between them. 

He briefly thought about saying it right there and then. And of course that was a genius idea. Saying I love you to break an awkward moment was ideal. He reached for other words, something, anything to offer James. But the only things he could think of sounded trite and stale. Awkward, placating little phrases that were so obviously anything but what needed to be said. In lieu of anything else to proffer he reached out and took James hand, twining their fingers together. James watched him carefully, those shrewd, intelligent eyes searching his face before turning away to watch the river, not quite quick enough to hide the flicker of uncertainty. 

Robbie held back a sigh at his own stupidity. He probably should have expected this. James was a detective after all, used to collecting and collating evidence. To pondering actions and motives, turning and twisting them, looking from all angles until they took shape, fitted into the jigsaw of each case. 

And what evidence had he given him? Three months of silence and all the years of dithering before that. James’d had a ring side seat for his and Laura’s almost but not quite dance. Only natural that James might occasionally wonder if that’s just how it was. That he was the embodiment of some pathetic stereotype. The kind of bloke who was frightened of commitment or your pantomime gruff northerner complete with affection deficit. 

But surely James knew he wasn’t that kind of bloke at all. He never had any trouble showing people how he felt, quite the opposite really. His inability to hide frustration or anger on the job had ruffled more than a few feathers over the years, ruffled James’ on more than one occasion. And he certainly didn’t have any problem with commitment. He’d loved being married and all the stability that brought, loved being there for someone, offering that surety and strength in return. 

And now James’ was his. Far as he was concerned that was it, for the rest of whatever time he had on the earth. James surely knew that. Must know that the real reason he’d never properly made a go of it with Laura wasn’t anything to do with commitment issues. Not in that way anyway, it was simply that he was already committed elsewhere. No, the real reason was sat next to him in a scruffy tracksuit sipping takeaway coffee like it was the finest French roast.

There was other evidence James had as well. He’d always believed that actions spoke louder than words, and he was showing James how he felt right enough. The fact he was out of bed at the arse crack of dawn bearing gifts was a fairly loud declaration. That should tell James that he wasn’t interested in anything other than being with him. Being right beside him, wherever he happened to be; misty river, grisly crime scene or a simple walk to the shops. And he lived more at James’ flat than his own these days, took an interest in his pursuits, tried to spend as much time as possible with him. 

In fact come to think of it he was sort of moving in by stealth, pushing his way into James’ life one overnight bag at a time. Which was possibly a bit confusing really he realised with a wince. Mixed signals or whatever the talk shows called it. Shifting himself in piece by piece without actually giving the lad anything in return, any proper security. Any reason to think that he might not simply start moving out piece by piece at any point. 

So here they both were, starting to haver around each other. It was a right bloody pickle he’d landed himself in. He’d have to get one of those mugs he’d seen in the Quaker Centre the other week, the one with that slogan. 

This would be really funny if it wasn’t happening to me.


	2. Chapter 2

They left the river around eight, just as the sun was starting to offer a weak warmth. Robbie kept hold of James’ hand as they walked along the water’s edge, silence growing more comfortable as he showed no signs of releasing his hold. Not even as they nipped into the station car park to retrieve his car from where it had been left the night before. He drove them both back up toward Godstow, stopping at his own flat on the way to check on Monty. 

James hovered outside, the smoke from his obligatory cigarette weaving its way up past his kitchen window. He left the cat bowl to soak in the sink for a few minutes and ducked into the bedroom to gather up more underwear, a couple of work shirts and a motley selection of casual clothes. He’d given up trying to pick out things to wear right about the time James raised an eyebrow at his favourite jumper being paired with the first casual shirt he’d put his hands on. And okay the shirt had been an odd shade of green, but it was clean and ironed and it was good enough for him. But not good enough for a trip to the garden centre it had seemed. Or anybody with functioning retinas, as James had termed it. Him and his bloody knowledge of complementary colours. He had no idea whether what he’d grabbed would be acceptable but James would tell him soon enough. Or march him off to Debenhams again. Once he’d got over the indignation at being treated like a school kid whose mam was picking out things to try on he hadn’t minded really. Not when James had shown such obvious appreciation. Never had his arse groped in a changing room before. 

He found the cat perched on his bed, grey head resting on paws as he regarded Robbie with regal distain. 

“Ah, the cold shoulder is it?” Robbie surmised as he rifled through drawers, passing over James’ clothes as well as his own. “I don’t know, I stay away for a night and suddenly you don’t want to know me. Fickle you are.” 

“He’s not fickle, he just has high standards,” James observed from the doorway where he leant a shoulder against the door frame, “people on hand to feed and pet him when ever he wants, open doors for him, dance a red dot around the living room. Just your feline basics really.”

“He’s never had that,” Robbie objected out, “Not like I keep regular hours as it is.”

“Maybe he’s aware he’s got a rival now,” James observed as he collapsed gently onto the bed, propping himself up on an elbow as he reached out to stroke the cat. “After all he’s no longer the only man that shares your bed.”

“Then shouldn’t he be showering me in affection?” Robbie suggested as he offered a smile over his shoulder, enjoying the sight of his young, beautiful lover slouching around in his own inimitable way. “Bringing me gifts, that sort of thing?”

“Partial to a disembowelled vole are you?” James asked, “a handful of half chewed feathers?”

“I was always taught it’s the thought that counts,” Robbie said primly as he bent to offer a brief peck to James’ lips on his way past.

“I’ll remember that come Christmas,” James called back, “one dismembered rodent and a half-digested bird. Do you think John Lewis would do the gift wrapping?”

“Sod,” Robbie muttered affectionately as he turned to retrieve the tin of cat food from fridge door, dolling out a reasonable portion and setting the dish on the floor. The cat was another reason they needed to have a conversation about living arrangements, nipping back to see to him on the days they weren’t here was a bit of a bother. 

Except cat convenience was no good reason to move in with someone. That was like asking someone to marry you because of the tax breaks. Lyn’s partner was a financial advisor and even he’d managed to avoid mentioning that in his proposal. 

He couldn’t fault James’ reticence on the matter. Not really. Perfectly sensible not to move in with someone that couldn’t even admit they loved you. Maybe he’d just been on his own for too long. Except that was no excuse. James had been on his own just as long, possibly longer given that he’d never really been in a long term relationship. And he was doing just fine, more than fine. Course it was possible he’d done research, although he couldn’t really see James browsing the self-help section of Blackwells. Maybe he’d take a shufti at his bookcases when they got back, just in case there was any reading material. Or he could simply ask for the Dewey Decimal number and go and raid the library. Except he was fairly sure there wasn’t a section that covered this. Nothing helpfully entitled ‘delayed declarations of love and their attendant problems’. 

He wandered back toward his bedroom and paused just inside the door, enchanted by the sight of James lying on his back with Monty sprawled out on his chest, the cat happily purring away as James stroked a gentle hand along the long line of his spine, quietly chatting away as he did so. He knew how Monty felt, he’d happily melted under those hands himself, drifted off with James’ smooth dulcet voice murmuring in his ear. 

God, James loved so easily and so tenderly, and he was overthinking all of this. Perfect moments be damned. Overcomplicating things was James’ role in this partnership, not his. They’d just have to sit down over a pot of tea when they got back and he could apologise for being a total twit about things. Again. Then he could quietly and simply tell James he loved him. He’d done his fair share of grovelling apologies over the years, things he’d said, things he hadn’t said. Sincerity and honesty were the only way to go about it. Only way to go about most things that mattered. And this mattered. James mattered. There’d be other moments ahead of them. Plenty of time in the years ahead to cherish James in the way he deserved. 

“Now you appear to be in my bed with another man,” Robbie observed.

“On your bed,” James corrected with a slightly reproving glance, “and I wouldn’t worry, Monty’s still fully clothed, got all his fur on. Anyway I’m an entirely innocent participant in this, I was just lying here when he climbed on top of me and started head-butting my hand in a very endearing way.”

“Yeah he does that,” Robbie agreed, “the trick to avoiding his advances is not to stay still for too long. He considers any prostrate human fair game.”

“Rightly so,” James said indulgently as he tickled the underside of Monty’s chin, the cat arching his neck blissful appreciation.

“See if you still think that when he lands on your back as you’re knelt in front of the TV trying to programme the bleeding DVD player,” Robbie grumbled. “Had claw marks down my spine for a week after that.”

“Course I will,” James promised the cat, “anyway Monty doesn’t scratch me, we understand each other.”

“Hold onto that delusion if you want,” Robbie said as he came to perch on the bed, “but I’ll laugh all the harder the day he tries to climb up your trouser leg in search of the chicken from your sandwich. It all gets a bit frightening above the knee.”

“He does that?” James asked, his hands stilling.

“Has done,” Robbie confirmed. 

“Hmm,” James said regarding Monty with a sudden air of wary respect. “I’m sure it was a one off, you probably hadn’t fed him enough.”

“Never lived with a cat have you,” Robbie observed with a grin, “believe me if you’re slow serving dinner you get told. Or tripped.”

“We got a few minutes?” James suddenly asked.

“Can have?” Robbie agreed, questioning the change in subject.

“I was thinking about grabbing a shower?” James said, “I’m covered in river water. And splashes of mud,” he added observing his arms with a grimace. “There should be some clean clothes here.”

“No need to ask,” Robbie confirmed with a light reprimand, “Go on, I’ll see what I can ferret out for you.”

“Nah,” James said as he sat up dropping the cat into his lap, “I’ll find something, you stay here. Talk to Monty he misses you.”

“Don’t worry, we both know he’s deluded,” Robbie observed as James wandered off to the bathroom, snagging a towel from the airing cupboard as he went. “I know that as far as you’re concerned one human is pretty much the same as the next. But don’t tell him that, I think he’s rather fond of you, likes to believe you’re fond of him too. We need to keep that illusion going for as long as possible.”

Monty regarded him with pale eyes as though considering the matter. He twirled himself around several times, eventually settling into a loose ball, back pressed up against Robbie’s stomach, his purr a low, gentle rumble. Robbie thought back to the days and nights when the indifferent affections of the cat had been his only point of warmth. Horrible, lonely occasions. Times he wouldn’t ever have to face again thanks to the bonny lad currently occupying his shower. He contemplated getting up and joining James, watching as his body gradually grew pinked and flush beneath the water, as he ran soap slicked hands over his own skin. Wondered if he might be able to tempt the lad into giving him a bit of a private performance. But James emerged all too soon, hair still towel damp as he pulled on a shirt and a pair of grey jeans. He looked rather fetching, but then he always did.

“Ready?” James asked he carefully scooped up Monty and placed him gently on a pillow, offering a final gentle scratch to his silky head.

They left the flat a few minutes later making the last part of the journey to James’ as the sun finally burnt through the last of the remaining clouds. The phone was ringing as they opened the door and Robbie dropped his bag on the floor as they both departed in search of the handset. Bloody cordless phones, they needed to make them with legs and a homing instinct. He found it first, pushing the answer button when a shrug was the only answer to his raised eyebrow. 

“Hello love,” he said warmly as he recognised the voice of Lyn. The slight flinch that jerked James body wasn’t warm at all. “Yeah you must have just missed us at mine, then I was driving so couldn’t answer the mobile,” he offered in answer to Lyn’s questioning. A sharp stab of disquiet bloomed in his chest as James exited the room a little too sharply.

Tea and a talk. Definitely. Sooner rather than later. He wandered into the kitchen intending to at least retrieve the teapot from the dishwasher, but found James busily opening cupboards in search of something or other. Robbie watched him with narrowed eyes, unable to tell whether the search was genuine or more a diversionary activity. James did seem to be carefully avoiding eye contact, attention never diverting from one shelf to the next, but that could just be an attempt to give him a bit of space to talk to Lyn, or some prelude to cataloguing the contents of the kitchen. You never knew with James. 

Robbie ambled back into the lounge and perched in the arm chair as he caught up with the ins and outs of Lyn’s family. Chattered a bit about work, told her about his morning walk. James wandered in as he was finishing up, holding out his hand in silent entreaty. Robbie relinquished the phone readily enough, listening with half an ear as James began what sounded liked a discussion about chemicals. Sodium of all things seemed to feature quite heavily. He had no idea what that was about, nothing that was immediately case related he could think of. And James was reading about the colonisation of Australia at the moment, or the foundation of her government or something. Whatever it was meant he was treated to occasional asides about the legal and judicial systems and their similarity to the UK’s. So what ever it was wasn’t work related or linked to his reading. Maybe he’d just been chatting to Laura about something during the week and had some burning question that couldn’t wait until Monday. 

He shook his head, giving up on understanding and went to retrieve his bag, stowing its contents tidily away and returning the holdall to the boot. Lyn and James getting on was an unexpected bonus. He’d told her right away about them. Course he had, no debate about it. He wasn’t about to try and hide their relationship. And there were those actions again. But still, words were needed and so he headed toward the kitchen. Tea, and maybe a little of that fruit cake they had left in the tin. 

Only James was there again, his head back in a cupboard. 

“Can you sort the washing out and shove a load on?” he asked. “Thought we could nip out to the supermarket before lunch, and that way it’ll be done when we get back. I’m going to make up a shopping list. Anything in particular you fancy eating this week?”

It was like that then was it. All brisk business. Well the tea and cake would wait until later. “Not really,” Robbie said with a shrug. He was fairly easy when it came to food, would try most things that were put in front of him. James was good at cooking, better than him anyway. It wasn’t exactly Egon Ronay, but he produced meals with a little more imagination than Robbie managed to muster. He’d thought he was doing okay, back when they tried to share out the cooking. But after he’d delivered spaghetti bolognaise, shepherd’s pie and a slightly burnt lasagne one week and had it painstakingly explained that they were basically the same meal, by mutual consent he’d been relegated to sous chef and chief bottle washer. 

“Don’t trust me not to load the trolley with ready meals and multipacks of crisps?” Robbie teased.

“Something like that,” James agreed distractedly, standing on tip-toes to peer into the top of the pulses cupboard. He’d never known anyone with a pulses cupboard before. Turned out organic oats and cranberries in muesli had just been the tip of the ingredient iceberg. He was now on nodding terms with peal barley and quinoa. They seemed pretty much the same sort of thing to him, but it kept James happy to have them on hand so he’d said little about it.

The drive out to Kiddlington was slow, the ten minute run lengthened by traffic backed up from the Peartree roundabout. The stereo was playing what sounded like a string quartet, Radio 3 probably given the lack of adverts. Robbie perused the shopping list with a raised eyebrow. 

“This is for a week is it?” he asked.

“Yep,” James agreed as he edged the car forward in the queue of traffic.

“You’ve invited a rugby team to stay over?” Robbie suggested.

“Add sleeping bags to the end of it,” James advised with deadpan nonchalance. “And camping mats, I forgot those. We wont fit more than a couple in with us.”

“Give us a pen then,” Robbie said.

“Glove box,” James instructed with a nod. 

Robbie ignored the suggestion, folding the list and shoving it into his pocket with a shake of his head. “What do we need three tins of tomatoes for anyway?” he asked. 

“Two for the pasta sauce tomorrow and a spare to stick in the cupboard for emergencies,” James explained.

Emergency tinned tomatoes. Right then. They’d be well prepped for any outbreaks of vitamin deficiency. Or a sudden and unexpected failure of the global tomato crop. 

“You do know they sell pasta sauce in jars, all ready to cook and everything?” Robbie asked. 

“Yeah,” James drawled a little sarcastically, “and if you look at the ingredients you’ll find them crammed with sugar and salt.”

“Sugar?” Robbie demanded, “in pasta sauce? Give over.”

“Have a look when we get in,” James suggested.

“But seriously, why?” Robbie asked again. He might not know much about cooking but he knew enough to know that sugar had no place in his dinner.

“Being charitable you could suggest it’s there as a preservative, to help the shelf life.”

“And if you’re not feeling charitable?” Robbie asked. 

“Sugar’s in almost all processed foods,” James said as they finally turned into the supermarket easing the car into a space near the cash points, “it has a powerful effect on the brain, lights up the reward pathways. Which is okay in small doses, a bit of chocolate every now and again wont do much harm. But if you keep stimulating those pathways, sugar in your tea at breakfast, a biscuit during the morning, can of coke at lunch, pasta sauce for your tea, it over activates that part of the brain and you end up permanently craving that sugar high. So then you eat, not because you’re hungry, but because your brain is seeking that reward. New research suggests it has the same addictive effect as cocaine. And it’s probably driving the rise in obesity. People are eating far too much sugar, and more particularly refined sugar, without even realising it.”

“Things you learn,” Robbie muttered as he dug a quid out of his pocket for the trolley. “Hang on, you having a go at my weight?” he asked, hand paused on the orange plastic handle.

James rolled his eyes and leaned over for a quick kiss, resting his hand lightly on Robbie’s waist. “Nope,” he said simply, “this is me having a go at keeping us both healthy. Seemed like a reasonable idea.”

“Yeah okay,” Robbie muttered a little gruffly. James saw a future for them then. One in which there’d be fewer takeaways and more home cooked tandoori. He could live with that. More than live with it. Sounded bloody fantastic.

“You do realise that the extra day and half you’ll be adding to my life will already have been used up slaving over a hot stove and shopping for…sweetheart cabbage,” Robbie pointed out as he consulted the list. 

“Yeah but what would you prefer, thirty six hours with a blanket on your knee listening to a rerun of Moneybox Live and mumbling through your false teeth, or the chance to bend me over the kitchen table and snog me senseless while we wait for the rice to boil?” James asked with a cheeky grin as he sauntered away through the electric doors.

And put like that there wasn’t really any contest was there?

Twenty minutes later found Robbie scanning the aisles for James as he made his way back from the fruit and veg section, fresh peas in hand. He’d thought he was being helpful finding a tin of those, but his offering had only produced the kind of stare that suggested he really should know better. Clearly he didn’t know any better as the bag of frozen ones he’d replaced them with only led to a sarcastic comment about deep tissue injuries and a pointed suggestion about how one might acquire such things. He still had no clue why it was okay for tomatoes to be in tins but not peas. Just like he had no idea why it was necessary to straighten rug tassels with an old hairbrush. But such was life with a walking enigma. 

He found James still among the tins, perusing the back of several cans of tuna, glasses perched on the end of his nose. He felt himself smile as he paused to watch for just a moment. He had a bit of a soft spot for James in his glasses, liked the way they subtly altered the shape of his unfortunate face, made him seem more his age. Less like a boyish, overgrown teenager who’d happened to borrow a band t-shirt off his dad. 

“Fairly certain they’re all ethically sourced these days,” Robbie commented as he dropped the peas into the trolley. “No dolphins were harmed in the collection of this tuna. See?” he said pointing to the logo on the front of the label. 

“I’m checking the levels of salt,” James explained a little distractedly.

“No salt in this one,” Robbie observed as he plucked a tin off the shelf.

“None?” James asked, tone disbelieving. “You do know fish live in salt water?”

“No salt,” Robbie said as he glanced at the ingredient list choosing to ignore the jibe. “Just tuna and water.”

“Check the nutritional information,” James advised as he reached out for another brand. 

“Fats, carbohydrate, no sugar you’ll be pleased to know,” Robbie observed, “bit of fibre, lot of protein and some sodium.”

“Times the sodium level by two and a half,” James instructed. 

“1.5 grams,” Robbie announced, startling a little as the can was lifted from his hand and summarily returned to the shelf. 

“We’re getting the ones in spring water,” James confirmed as he paused to glance at the list, shoving his glasses back onto his face. 

Sodium. Well that explained the conversation with Lyn. Probably had something to do with blood pressure, what with her being a cardiac nurse. A wave of affection rolled over him and he reached up to offer a quick kiss to James’ cheek. No one had ever spent their Saturday morning reading the items on supermarket shelves like they were medical textbooks in an attempt to keep him happy and healthy. Nor conspired with his daughter to do so. Christ, he was one of James’ projects now. The thought should probably annoy him, but it only left a delightfully warm feeling that spread out from his chest. James so clearly cared about him, in all those little small ways that mattered. Hot water bottle when his back was playing up, cup of decent tea to take into interminable team meetings and the lowest sodium tuna there was to offer. 

James raised his eyebrow at the kiss. “If I’d known a detailed examinations of product labels did it for you we could have discussed your dietary habits years ago,” he offered.

“You tried,” Robbie pointed out dryly, “on many an occasion.” He reached for James’ hand, squeezing his fingers. “And I love you for it. For all of it,” he said gesturing toward the trolley. “I love you,” he repeated softly, but firmly.

So here he was, in the Kiddlington Sainsburys, hand in hand with his boyfriend making heartfelt declarations. Turned out the perfect moment was in aisle eleven, somewhere between borlotti beans and minestrone soup. And right next to a tin of tuna.

James closed his eyes and bowed his head as a silence stole over them. 

"You need a middle name," James said, just as the moment threatened to become awkward. "Preferably two."

"Eh?" Robbie declared. What the hell that had to do with the price of fish he didn't know. The price of tomatoes or peas either for that matter. And it sure as hell had nothing to do with what he’d just said. Enigma? Perplexing paradox more like.

"I'm sure your mother regretted it," James continued, monologuing almost to himself as his eyes scanned the trolley. "It's impossible to tick someone off with any authority when they only have two names."

"You're ticking me off?" Robbie asked. He glanced at the trolley, eying the peas doubtfully. They seemed like what James had asked for. One pack of fresh peas. And there they were. Lying right beside the carrots and a packet of milk chocolate digestives.

He reached for them hesitantly, "they looked all right to me," he began warily, "but I can change them if you tell me what..."

"Robert insert-missing-middle-names-here Lewis," James interrupted, a crack of authority to his voice that was all sergeant Hathaway. 

Robbie stood a little straighter before forcing himself to relax. He liked that tone on James, given the right set of circumstances. But an aisle full of Saturday morning shoppers who were starting to eye them curiously wasn’t one of them.

"When we get home you are going to start reading Jane Austen. Then when you've worked your way through her back catalogue you can start on Shakespeare’s sonnets. All of them. And if necessary you will work you way though every romantic poet and novelist up to and including Barbara Taylor Bradford, Jilly Cooper and bloody Mills and Boon until you come to understand that the moment one tells ones partner they love them for the first time should not be in the tinned goods aisle of a sodding supermarket.”

Robbie grinned sheepishly. The lad had a bit of a point really. Especially given his tortured search for the right moment. This definitely wasn’t a moonlight river walk or a candlelit dinner. But then again James still had hold of his hand, and showed no signs of letting go anytime soon. “Sorry, we can try again in the freezer section if you think it would help,” he added. Because the best thing to help diffuse situations like these was a weak joke. 

“I hate you,” James said blandly, but his voice held no heat, no distress. And his eyes never left Robbie’s. 

“Nah you don’t,” Robbie said with growing confidence. “You can bitch about this to your band mates when you see them tomorrow. And our Lyn next time she rings. You can even tell the story to Jack as he grows up. This has dining out potential written all over it.”

“Oh it does,” James agreed in a way that told Robbie he was never going to hear the end of it. “Mostly I hate you because right now I can’t shove you up against the nearest flat surface and kiss you until one of us forgets their own name. And that’s one hell of an opportunity you’ve wasted there, particularly given how our snogging sessions usually end. You can think about that as you go and find me some kitchen rolls. Recycled,” he added before trundling off toward the fresh bread all gathered dignity and lightly swinging hips.

Right, Robbie thought. That was that then. 

They rest of the day passed quietly enough. Wash loads finished and hung out around a long lunch and a nice session of lazy kissing on the bed that led to a bit of hand wandering but nothing more energetic. James was humming quietly from the bedroom where he was folding and sorting the washing. Ironing tomorrow then Robbie realised as he switched the TV on, flicking through the channels but predictability finding nothing he wanted to watch. He tossed the remote onto the coffee table watching as James padded into the room, bare feet making no noise on the carpet. 

He popped his iPod onto the stereo dock and then collapsed onto the sofa, swinging his legs into Robbie lap, wiggling his eyebrows. Wiggling his toes for added effect. Robbie rolled his eyes but obeyed the unspoken command, starting a light massage of his feet. Had a bit of a thing for a good foot rub did James. A few spots got him nicely hot and bothered, made his voice all warm and rumbly. Which had a tendency to get him going in turn. But just for the moment his touch offered nothing but simple affection. Mind, the evening was still young, plenty of time to see how things developed.

They watched each other for a moment before James offered a soft smile and closed his eyes with an appreciative moan, settling himself more comfortably. Robbie regarded him with his own soft smile. He really did love moments like this; the quiet, serene times. When there was nothing in the world but the two of them and all the things that lay between them. All the things they’d shared, all the things they would share. He could imagine so many more moments like this, lazy Sunday afternoons or quiet times after supper. Lamp light picking out the flecks in James’ eyes. He really was truly lovely and he was the luckiest bloke alive.

“I do love you,” he said again.

“Twice in one day,” James observed, raising an eyebrow without opening an eye.

Robbie tugged at an earlobe. “Yeah well, it was bothering you. I’m sorry.”

“It was bothering you more,” James pointed out lazily.

That was true enough, Robbie acknowledged as the track on the iPod changed to some bit of jaunty jazz, double bass and trumpet. He was getting better at recognising things like that these days. Knew his clarinets from his cornets. His eyes narrowed as he took in the music, hands stilling as his concentration shifted. Bloody hell he recognised that all right, it was from the Jungle Book. They’d had a right collection of Disney videos when the kids were little, and that was Baloo and the bloody Bare Necessities. 

He tipped James feet onto the floor as the song began in earnest grabbing at the nearest cushion and smacking James with it. Hard.

“Git,” he declared feelingly, “and just how long have you been saving that one?” Robbie demanded as James danced away from him with a giggle. James Hathaway giggling. That was something he never thought he’d see. 

“About three months actually,” James said with a pointed grin as he darted round the sofa, bouncing lightly on his toes as he evaded the swipes of Robbie’s arm. “Come on you can do better than that,” he goaded.

“Snogging session my arse,” Robbie said, “you just wanted the opportunity to wind me up.” 

“Well…yeah,” James agreed unrepentantly, eyes shining and dancing. 

Robbie assessed the situation calmly. He was getting nowhere trying to hit James from this distance, little chance given that the sofa was in the way. He could just throw the cushion at him, but then he’d lose his advantage. They’d covered that in the basic training, never surrender anything that could be a weapon to an assailant. Nothing for it then, he’d have to make a dash for him.

But James read his feint all too easily, sprinting away to his left, past the kitchen and down the corridor to the bedroom, yelping in delight as an airborne cushion eventually caught him in the back when he rounded the doorway.

“Assault and battery?” James asked from the other side of the bed as Robbie skidded into the room. “Shocking behaviour, they’ll never believe it down the station.”

“Oh this isn’t just going to be assault and battery, we’re looking at lawful killing here,” Robbie corrected as he stood for a moment collecting his breath. He wasn’t particularly unfit but James had bloody long legs, you needed a good burst of speed to have any chance of keeping up with him. Although he was rather trapped now, hemmed in between the wardrobe on the far wall and his bed. Only one obvious escape route. “No one’s going to have trouble believing you wound me up.”

“Probably not,” James quipped unrepentantly, “but you do realise that’s not quite what lawful killing means. Innocent would arrest you even if no one else did. Well developed sense of justice that woman,” he finished approvingly.

“That’s as maybe,” Robbie agreed. “But she’s not here now is she?”

“I can take care of myself,” James assured him loftily. “Anyway, what are you going to do now you’ve lost your cushion, argue with me? You are aware being bored to death is only a phrase, a hyperbolic linguistic device?”

“Baiting me again?” Robbie asked, voice dropping a little, “I could almost believe you want to get caught, looking forward to a little correctional punishment are we?”

“Nope,” James said as he burst into movement again, chancing a long legged leap across the bed. Robbie smiled, cutting off his expected exit with a quick move of his own, tumbling them both onto the soft cushion of the mattress where they landed in a tumble of limbs. Athletic James might be, but he had his moments as well. Robbie rolled them, pinning James beneath him as they tussled for a moment, James’ bucking up against the weight of Robbie’s hips, squirming beneath the hands that pressed his wrists into the pillows.

“Damn,” James observed as he flopped back onto the duvet with a grin. “I reckoned I could have held you off for a good five minutes.”

“Ah, but I have age and guile on my side,” Robbie reminded him, fingers stroking across the soft skin of a wrist as he eased his grip.

“Yeah” James asked as he shivered lightly at the teasing touch. “Well go on then,” he said, raising his hands over his head, stretching out his long body like the delightful offering it was. “Beguile me.”

“And why would I want to do that?” Robbie asked, hands skimming across James’ forearms, the skin warm where it had lain beneath his shirt. “You’re in the doghouse remember, you’ve clearly got no respect for me at all.”

“I have respect,” James objected, pouting a little as Robbie pulled away, sitting back on his haunches. “I have so much respect it borders on reverence. Veneration even. I’m thinking about writing to the Congregation for the Causes of Saints about you.”

“Thanks, I think,” Robbie said uncertainly, watching with interest as James shifted position, moving to wrap his ever delightful legs around his waist. Robbie let his hands drop to James’ thighs, fingers idly tracing the seam of his jeans. He liked this so much more than he should; James, splayed out before him, anything on offer, everything on display.

“Actually don’t thank me,” James corrected as he arched into the touch, “that would mean you’d been dead for five years.”

“Some mornings it’s not always clear,” Robbie joked as he gazed down at James. He had that look in his eyes again, that intense, focussed expression that could mean he was about to make a break through on a case or was mentally cataloguing seventeenth century music, in chronological order.

“And much as I do adore and respect you,” James continued as his legs slid ever tighter, “I think we might struggle to prove you’d led a life of heroic virtue. Or that your frankly astounding ability to solve abstruse and arcane crimes was in some way miraculous. Albeit to lesser mortals it may often seem that way.”

“Don’t think I fancy being a saint anyway,” Robbie mused as he pushed up the tails of James’ shirt, exposing his flat stomach to his own questing fingers. “Seems like a lot of hard work. And I was brought up CofE, wouldn’t even know where to find halo polish.”

“Good,” James said as a distinctly wicked smile made its way onto his face and he rose up on one shoulder, “whilst seducing a saint would be an interesting challenge, it’s not one I relish.”

“Saying I’m easy?” Robbie asked as he obeyed the steady pressure and dropped onto the bed, settling next to James.

“Delightfully so,” James agreed as they melted into a kiss, offering a deep, contented moan as Robbie sucked lightly on his bottom lip. They settled against each other, easily moulding to the familiar curves and clefts.

Robbie felt the slow burn of arousal begin in his stomach, could feel the echoing swell that began in James’ body.

“Shift a minute,” James murmured against his lips as deft fingers unsnapped buttons and lowered zips, “let me get your trousers off.”

“The romance of this is overwhelming,” Robbie joked as he rolled onto his back, obligingly raising his hips.

“I’ll go find some tins of tuna, complete the ambiance,” James retorted, placing a kiss to his stomach in soft apology. “Hang on,” he asked a beat later, “are those my socks?”

Robbie dropped his head back against the pillow. Of all the bloody things to notice at a time like this. “Yes love, those are your socks,” he confirmed patiently.

“But they’re on your feet,” James observed a little petulantly.

“Take ‘em off,” Robbie suggested with a shrug. “Look it was that or walk down to the river barefoot,” he explained, propping himself up on his elbows to take in James’ expression. He couldn’t quite decipher it. Seemed to hover somewhere between put out and secretly pleased, with just the occasional hint of pensive. All told it made him look like a rather confused dyspeptic. Probably not an observation to share.

James fell heavily back to the bed. “Do you want to talk about who’s living where?” he asked.

Robbie turned his head, searching James’ changeable eyes for any hint as to the rapid shift in mood. Some days life with James needed a roll cage and a firm seatbelt, only way to secure against whiplash.

“You know I do,” he confirmed, reaching up a hand to caress James’ waist. Impossible not to touch when they were lying like this. “But I got the impression you didn’t. And that’s okay,” he reassured, fingers repeating his soothing tone.

“It would be easier for Monty,” James observed.

“Yeah,” Robbie agreed, “but the cat’s quite okay where he is. Has the run of the entire flat and the garden. And when we are there you wait on him hand and foot. He’s never been happier.”

“You’re stealing my socks,” James said.

“Borrowing at best,” Robbie objected lightly, “but I’m not sure putting me and your socks permanently together really resolves that one.”

“So now you don’t want to live together?” James asked quietly, uncertain eyes fixed on the stucco ceiling. 

How many times had he done this, Robbie wondered. Had he in fact ever done this? “James look at me,” he insisted gently, waiting until those soft, hazel eyes finally met his own. A wave of tenderness washed over him, because across this last year, all those months James had spent wooing and then winning him, he’d never seen this. Never seen those expressive eyes shadowed with so much doubt. So confident in so many ways, but humblingly hesitant in others. He was a paradox all right, a wonderfully endearing one.

“My cat and your bloody socks are no good reason to live together,” he said softly. “But I do want us to think about it. I want you in my life pet, want to be in yours. I want to go to sleep with you every night and wake up with you any morning you’re not out being overly energetic. I want to row about who used the last of the loo roll and who forgot to take the bins out. And I hope you want that too.”

“What if we can’t decide where to live?” James asked, fingers fiddling nervously at the duvet cover. “What if you want a garden and I get hay fever.”

“Then I’ll find another allotment or buy you antihistamines,” Robbie retorted. 

Hay fever indeed. He’d never seen any sign of it, but then of course that wasn’t the issue at all. James was simply having the collywobbles about something. If he didn’t want this Robbie would leave it well alone. But he hadn’t imagined that secretly pleased look he’d seen earlier, at least some part of James was thrilled at the idea of them sharing space and the occasional sock; sharing their lives.

“Come on, what’s really eating at you,” Robbie urged gently.

“It’s a big step,” James said after a moment, eyes boring into Robbie’s own. Pleading with him to somehow understand everything he wasn’t saying. If only he had any hint what that was. 

“Yes and no,” Robbie agreed. “Not like we haven’t spent enough time together over the years, we’ve been practically living together for the last month or so anyway.”

“But we’ll only have one flat,” James pointed out.

“Or house,” Robbie agreed. 

“We’d have to get on all the time,” James eventually offered. “Not like one of us can retreat if…” 

He trailed off into a slightly embarrassed silence. Robbie pressed a gentle kiss against James’ hair as the fragments of the conversation finally came together. That barney they’d had about seven weeks ago over the Bedford case, neither of them able to agree on how the evidence fell and who their prime suspect should be. The end of those nightmare weeks at work when they were tired and fratchety and all to easily irritated. When he’d retreated back to his own place to glower and brood in silence. It had taken all of sixteen hours for the peace and quiet to get old, for him to come searching for James again.

“Hence the suggestion of a house,” Robbie said with a rueful smile. “We’re not always going get on, no couple ever does. Provided there’s a few extra rooms for cooling off space we’ll manage. We’re probably going to have to learn how to leave work outside as well, somehow I think we might find that more of a challenge,” he observed.

“Probably,” James agreed as he risked as glance at Robbie’s gentle, caring face. “I’m being an idiot aren’t I?” he asked.

“Well it was your turn,” Robbie agreed with easy generosity as he pressed another kiss to James’ hair, cradling the blond head against his own. “I can’t be the idiot all of the time.”

“But you do it so well,” James offered as he shifted his head into the crook of Robbie’s neck, soft breaths tickling his collar bone. They rested quietly together, the early evening light dimming as rain began to spatter against the window, lingering drops refracting the streetlight onto the pale carpet. James eventually stirred, lips offering a kiss to Robbie’s collar bone and then another. He arched his neck seeking out Robbie’s mouth, tongue darting out to tease and entreat.

“Shall I take my trousers off now?” James asked as they parted to draw breath.

Robbie laughed, letting his forehead fall against James’. Whiplash didn’t cover it, that was only an injury in one plane. Keeping up with James required the ability to shift every which way at a moment’s notice.

“Not on my account,” Robbie said with a gentle shake of his head. “How about you change into your pyjamas while I go and shove last night’s hotpot in the oven. Maybe see if you can make Rightmove work on my ipad thingy while we wait for it to cook. Sound okay?” he asked, offering a gentle stroke to James’ cheek.

James nodded, eyes warm and grateful, lips soft where they pressed against his palm. There was still the lingering hint of doubt, but time would solve that. Those reservations would ease in the days ahead, would lessen and loose as the weeks accrued into months and years. As their life twisted and turned, took on its own unique and ever changing shape. There’d be new doubts as well, fresh bumps in the road to navigate and more than a few mountainous molehills. But they’d be just fine, more than fine.

Robbie slipped off the bed, drawing the curtains tight as he passed the now dark window. He paused in the doorway, glancing back at the bed with its slightly dishevelled occupant, rumpled by hands and his own hesitant heart. 

James glanced back at him that expressive face serious for a moment before it broke into a full and glorious smile.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the requested epilogue to 'A Winter's Tale' - JD517 I hope it delivers! I'll post the second and final chapter tomorrow. Sorry it's taken so long, it's been a damn hard slog. Probably not helped by the bad cold that landed on boxing day and from which I'm still trying to recover. 
> 
> Vix - without you this would have been an unmitigated mess, your honesty is always appreciated.
> 
> For those that are interested the title comes from the lovely little poem 'Central Park at Dusk' by Sara Teasdale.


End file.
